


Black bird

by ARMEN15



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: #themanythanksday, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Normal Life, Thanksgiving, foodandplot, livinginamerica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: For the Thanksgiving propmpt by Aryaxjaquen.
Relationships: Jaqen H'ghar/Arya Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 365





	Black bird

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay, work was crazy until Yesterday evening.

Arya Stark opened the front door after having dropped her keys twice; Nymeria was impatient to enter and wiggled her wet tail against Arya’s legs.  
“Sanya, Jaqen, I’m home.” She announced, throwing her bag on the nearest chair.  
The wolf was fast in crossing the threshold and she barked loudly; her house, her pack to protect, a new smell in the air.  
Jaqen H’ghar arrived from the kitchen, holding a long knife and wearing a grey apron with the Stark arms embroidered where the heart was.  
The door behind him was closed, he blocked the corridor, facing Arya.  
The photos Sanya had sent her mother were worrying: a huge turkey inside a cage, alive, with black feathers and the biggest beak Arya ever saw. She feared the turkey problem since Halloween, because it was their first true Thanksgiving and Sanya wanted to be like her classmates.  
And a man was clearly not letting his wife reach the kitchen.  
“Jaqen, let me pass.”  
“No.” He was too much in control for Arya’s taste; she took a breath and started to negotiate.  
“Where is the turkey now?”  
“In the pantry with Sanya.”  
“What are you going to do with a live bird?”  
“A father and a daughter will prepare the traditional dish. Turkey with blacknerry sauce”  
Arya’s eyes widened, Jaquen tried to remain impassible but the furrowed brow of his wife was a dangerous sign also for an assassin.  
“Are you going to cook a huge turkey in my kitchen after you kill it in the pantry?”  
“A man believes an oven is needed, it’s raining too much to set a skewer outside. And it is our kitchen, lovely wife. A husband does the cooking for the family.”  
Defeated by his logic and his demeanour, Arya crossed her arms, stubbornness in her features.  
“It is not necessary to buy a live turkey, you could have found one already dead at the supermarket.”  
“Just so.”  
“Well, I’ll help you and Sanya.”  
“Not this time, a girl will learn something new today. My training has a purpose. Now you and Nymeria relax in front of the fire with a cup of black tea. I’ve prepared biscuits, the bone shaped ones are hers, be careful not to steal.”  
Arya and her wolf resigned to go into the living room and Nymeria lied quietly on the floor, her head in Arya’s lap.  
“He don’t want me there.”  
The wolf opened her eyes, mirroring her mistress’ colour and Arya read understanding in them. Nymeria whined in a low tone.  
“I know, I trust him, eighteen years since I met him at that medieval fair.”  
The wolf nodded, then growled, offering a paw that Arya caressed.  
“He’s teaching Sanya how to kill. But he said he wanted to start her training only back home next year.”  
A warm tongue licked Arya’s hand, the woman took a long breath.  
“I’ll have to clean all his mess, as always. Men, faceless or not, are a disaster”  
She ate her biscuits, drank more tea, all the time listening to the sounds from the other room.  
Nothing.  
The clock on the mantelpiece stroke half past four.  
Nymeria was snoozing in her sleep.  
Twenty past five.  
Texts from Bran, Arya resisted the temptation to ask her brother to give a look on the other side of the wall.  
Five to six, still silence.  
Impatience was eating Arya from the inside, she paced the huge room, from the couch to the windows and back, twice, thrice, waking up Nymeria when she weighed her tail inadvertently.  
“Five more minutes, then we’ll enter.”  
Nymeria stood on four legs, tense like her owner.  
Suddenly the door opened and Sanya appeared, had dark stains on the front of her small apron.  
“Mom! Come here and see.”  
Arya peeked into the kitchen and saw Jaqen standing proud beside the oven. A good smell permeated the room, Sanya’s forehead was sweaty and one of the windows was half open to lower the temperature.  
Arya scanned around, all was clean, the dishwasher on, no traces of blood and feathers.  
“Are you satisfied, Arya Stark?” Her husband asked.  
She nodded, but something was missing.  
Sanya was visibly happy and tugged at her mother’s sleeve.  
“Mom, I’ve done all by myself. Dad helped me just a little, didn’t you, dad?”  
“A daughter is a promising cook.”  
“But it is all clean and the turkey didn’t squeal, how…”  
A sound from the adjoining pantry captured Arya’s attention, she turned and saw the cocked head of the black bird, framed by the bars of the cage; Nymeria was observing it close.  
“You didn’t….it is alive … but the stains.”  
Jaqen smiled, putting an arm on his daughter’s thin shoulders.  
“Sanya thinks it was unnecessary to sacrifice a good animal.”  
“Yes, mom, the turkey deserves to live, so dad helped me to cook a vegetarian pie for dinner.”  
“We cannot keep a turkey here. It’s not uncle Bran’s farm. It’s unpractical!”  
“You’re right, lovely wife. I’ve called a farm sanctuary and tomorrow we’ll go together there. The turkey will live in a safe place with other rescued animals.”  
“And your stains?”  
“We killed red beets for the pie and we pressed some blackberries to make a juice. Sanya baked a cake, too. For you.”  
Jaqen took a carafe from the fridge and poured three glasses; Sanya offered her mother one.  
“It’s vitamin and recommended for the eyes.” She explained seriously, wiser than her age and well taught by her father.  
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Jaqen toasted.  
Arya drank, the juce was delicious and it remembered her of the moors at Winterfell, the wilderness and the heather on the bare hills around her hometown.  
“It’s out first Thanksgiving and with or without turkey, I’m so happy to have you.”  
She hugged her little girl and slide an arm around Jaqen’s waist.  
It was perfect.  
It felt like home.


End file.
